Parlor Games (48 page)

The jurors trudged in and seated themselves in the box to the side of the courtroom, and the judge entered and stepped up to his
pedestal seat. I felt Ernest glaring at me, but I held myself still and trained my eyes on the judge.

After a flurry of preliminaries and jury instructions, Judge Darling invited Ernest’s solicitor, Mr. Ainsworth, to present his case.

Mr. Ainsworth eased off his chair and arranged the flows of his black robe. The judge and solicitors looked quite ridiculous in their long robes, silly bobbed wigs, and white Pilgrim-style ties. And Ainsworth, a short elderly man with a head too large for his narrow-shouldered frame, looked especially so, preening and strutting in the manner of a child who’d finally discovered a way to fend off his bully tormentors.

He began, “M’lord and members of the jury, Dr. Ernest Whidbey’s claim is very simple. He seeks to recover the loan he extended to the Baroness May de Vries, a loan she requested for the purchase of an expensive brooch. You see, Dr. Whidbey and the defendant resided together for roughly five years. During that time, the kind doctor paid all household as well as traveling expenses. After these years of support, the defendant suddenly and inexplicably fled the household, taking this brooch with her, leaving no address, and failing to repay the loan. As for her counterclaim, the requests are ludicrous, a mere attempt to skirt the issue before us. While the Baroness did loan Dr. Whidbey funds to gamble, she did so of her own initiative, requesting that he gamble on her behalf. Nor does the damages claim make any sense under the circumstances. Dr. Whidbey invited her to reside at Bray Lodge, she willingly agreed, and, furthermore, she was free to leave at any time.

“I now call Dr. Ernest Whidbey to the witness stand.”

For the next few hours, I suffered through Ernest’s laments: “I purchased the black-pearl brooch expressly at the Baroness’s request.” … “Why, yes, she even picked it up from the jeweler.” … “She told me on several occasions that she found our living arrangement very agreeable.” … “I was completely shocked by her sudden departure.”

My solicitor, however, nicely countered these pronouncements by calling me to testify about Ernest’s assurances of marriage.

“Yes,” I explained. “It was my understanding we were to wed. Although he claimed that his former wife made that difficult.”

After establishing that Ernest had, all along, showered me with
his favors, including some very fine pieces of jewelry, my attorney asked, “Do you believe an immoral consideration entered into his reason for these purchases?”

I lowered my eyes to my lap. “Yes.”

“And how would you characterize that expectation?”

“That I reside with him as if we were married.”

“Which you did for almost five years?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever wish to quit this immoral arrangement?”

“Yes, the last few years.”

“What prevented you?”

“He physically threatened me. I feared for my safety.”

But of course Mr. Ainsworth insisted on cross-examining me.

I held up quite well until he launched a surprise attack.

“Baroness, do you know a man by the name of Basil Zaharoff?”

“Yes.”

“What is the nature of your relationship with him?”

“I consider him an acquaintance.”

“Do you, my lady, entertain all acquaintances through the night?”

Stunned, I clapped a hand to my breast.

My solicitor shot to his feet. “Objection, m’lord. Mr. Ainsworth is damning by insinuation.”

Judge Darling gazed down upon Ainsworth. “Sustained. Please reframe the question, Mr. Ainsworth.”

“Yes, m’lord,” he said. Turning to me, he asked, “Did you travel to the Continent from the seventh to the thirteenth of January?”

“Yes.”

“Did you meet Mr. Zaharoff there?”

“No, I did not.”

“Why did you leave London that week?”

“To visit the church my father was baptized in.”

“Where is this?”

“In Nancy, Alsace.”

Ainsworth scratched his forehead. “What prompted you to do this in the middle of the winter?”

“Christmas always makes me sentimental. And it was the first time I felt free to travel there.”

“This trip had nothing to do with Mr. Zaharoff?”

I huffed with impatience. “I have said I did not meet Mr. Zaharoff on this trip.”

“Do you deny a romantic involvement with Mr. Zaharoff?”

I squared my shoulders. “Yes, I do.”

Ainsworth further inquired into dates that I had purportedly spent in Mr. Zaharoff’s company in Monte Carlo and London, but I held my own and fended off his charges. And when Daisy ascended to the witness box, she corroborated my report. Still, at the close of the session, Daisy and I immediately retired to the lounge at the Shaftesbury, where I drank three sherries to calm my rattled nerves.

CHECKMATE
FROM LONDON TO EGYPT AND NEW YORK—1910–1912

T
he next day, Friday, Mr. Ainsworth commenced by recalling Ernest to the witness box, perhaps in an attempt to counter my testimony. My solicitor had promised a lively questioning of Ernest, but first I had to tolerate Ainsworth’s continuing examination of him, which more closely resembled a fireside chat than a witness-box grilling. The first two hours brought no surprises, as Ainsworth merely afforded Ernest the opportunity to hammer home his suspicions about my “dalliances” and to swear before God, England, and all the specks of sand in the universe that I had borrowed the funds for the brooch and that he had never, ever threatened me.

Suddenly, as the luncheon break approached, Ainsworth’s questioning took a startling turn.

“Dr. Whidbey, did you, after the Baroness’s departure, retain any private detectives?”

“Yes, two. First I hired a Mr. Holliday here in London. It was he who discovered that the Baroness had traveled to the Continent. But he did some checking around and found this American detective who knew May—I mean, the Baroness.”

“And this detective’s name is …”

“Reed Dougherty of the Pinkerton Agency.”

Oh, Lord, I thought, not Dougherty again. Not here in London.

“And what did Mr. Dougherty say about the Baroness?”

“That he’d had multiple contacts with her.”

“Did he report on a criminal incident in the California city of San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“Will you recount this?”

“She and another woman were charged with larceny after they drugged and robbed a man. But they broke out of jail before they could be prosecuted.”

I turned wide-eyed to Mr. Brewster.

“Can Mr. Dougherty vouch for the fact that May de Vries was the woman in question?”

“Yes. Her photo was taken by the police.”

My solicitor, taking my cue and no doubt desiring to break off this line of inquiry, rose from his seat. “Objection, my lord, this is all hearsay.”

The judge pinched his brow. “Yes, I’m inclined to agree.”

He looked to Ainsworth and then Ernest. “Mr. Ainsworth, Dr. Whidbey, have you any documents from this detective?”

“His correspondence to Mr. Holliday.”

“Any official documents?”

“No, not official,” answered Ainsworth. “But he’s in transit, and we can put him on the stand next week, Your Lordship.”

Judge Darling frowned. “I suggest we take our midday break now and consider how to proceed with this witness afterward.”

Mr. Brewster requested that we meet over the luncheon recess, and I suggested Daisy join us. The three of us retreated to his office, where he ordered his assistant to run out for some food.

Mr. Brewster got right down to business. “Who is this Reed Dougherty?”

“A Pinkerton detective who trapped me in some compromising positions.”

“And the San Francisco incident?”

“It’s a frame-up.”

“What about the photograph?”

“I’ve never seen any such photograph.”

“Can you stand your own against his testimony?”

“Yes, I believe I can.” But I doubted my own words. The prospect of being examined about Dougherty’s testimony panicked me. I knew the scoundrel would gladly empty both barrels on me.

Mr. Brewster requested an account of any and all events that Dougherty might dredge up. I provided him, as best as I could, with the outlines of Dougherty’s other potentially damaging claims—that I’d
agreed to sell false stocks, tried to procure Johnny Graham’s money, and spied to win a mining deal with the Mexican government—and my denials or defenses in each instance.

Still, Mr. Brewster fretted. “This considerably complicates matters.”

Mr. Brewster’s assistant brought us piping-hot shepherd’s pies for lunch. But I hardly managed five forkfuls, so agitated was I with worries about confronting that cur Dougherty again and allowing his wild stories to ruin my reputation in London, the city where I hoped to continue to reside. I simply couldn’t permit Dougherty to take the stand.

Mr. Brewster secured a taxi after our meeting in his office, and we returned to court for the afternoon session. Upon arriving in the corridors of the court building, I excused myself and visited the ladies’ room. I took a stall at the far end, seated myself on the toilet, and removed a pin from my purse. Pulling my bottom lip away from the gums, I pierced myself four times with the pin, each time drawing blood.

I returned to the courtroom to find Brewster and Ainsworth in conference with the judge. I stood in the courtroom doorway beside Daisy and coughed. One cough led to another, until I buckled over, extracted my handkerchief, and coughed into it. I pulled the cloth away from my mouth. Crimson splotches of blood blotted it.

“My God, you’re bleeding,” said Daisy.

I swooned at the sight of my own blood.

When I came to, Daisy insisted we go straightaway to my doctor’s office, and she and Mr. Brewster helped me out to the curb, where they secured a taxi.

After examining me, the doctor evinced puzzlement. “I can’t explain the blood. There’re no other signs of tuberculosis.”

“She’s been laboring under a great deal of strain,” Daisy volunteered.

“Well,” he said, “you might want to get away if you can, perhaps to a warmer climate.”

“Yes, thank you, Doctor,” I said. “I believe I’ll do that.”

I ordered Daisy to look into travel opportunities, preferably
something departing in the next several days. Once she’d returned with a report, she phoned my solicitor’s office.

“Mr. Brewster,” she said, “we’ve just returned from the doctor’s office. He has ordered the Baroness to travel to Egypt. We leave in two days.”

I heard Mr. Brewster’s baritone resounding over the phone line, but I couldn’t discern his words. Daisy nodded, scrunching her brow in concentration. She recited the name and address of my physician.

“Yes, a postponement … Three months? … That would be appreciated.”

More booming bursts came from Brewster, until Daisy concluded with, “Yes, thank you very much, Mr. Brewster.”

I should have loved Egypt in springtime—the cruise to Alexandria, the train to Cairo, the excursion to the Pyramids of Giza—but the knowledge that I could neither stay forever nor escape the threat looming in London cast a pall over it all.